Freedom
folder
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,827
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,827
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Pitch Black, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Freedom
In Darkness Challenge
Freedom
In darkness he lay, curled tightly into himself, knees tucked to chest, arms wrapped around his legs. Pain seemed to pour from every nerve. His mind was white hot with both fever and regret. As tremors racked him, as his body shook with torment, he felt a small cool hand gently touch his back.
"Riddick?" it was the girl. The one they'd all thought a boy. She had fooled even him with her disguise. For awhile.
Riddick pulled his head from his knees with a huge effort. His eyes barley able to see her though she was within inches. He saw the worry etched in her face, the downward curve of her lips, creases in her normally unlined brow. And a tear. There was one small tear sliding down her cheek. For him.
It angered Riddick. If she was crying for him, he must be dying, must be weak. With an effort greater then any he'd ever used before, it seemed, he shook his head slowly back and forth. He wanted nothing more then to be left alone.
"Please let me clean it. Rididck, please." she begged. The single tear now joined by others, spilling down her cheeks. Sliding along her chin.
Again he moved his head, telling her 'no' without words. He had none. For, thought his mind was exploding with thought, his voice was gone. The agony of his infected leg having rendered him mute.
"Tell them Riddick's dead." he remembered those works. He'd uttered them only days before, but now it seemed they would be true.
Once off that hell hole of a planet they'd all thought themselve's safe, as safe as could be on a tiny ancient skiff.
Riddick had seen the worry and fear in The Holy Man's eyes. They were alone with a killer after all. The kid had shown no fear, no worry at being trapped inside with the notorious Richard B. Riddick.
He'd been unsure if her lack of anxiety was because he had saved them once, or if Jack was just plain insane. Driven there by those creatures, the endless night, the deaths of her 'friends'.
He knew within a few hours of their fiery take-off that his leg was worse then he'd at first thought. He could feel the dull ache begin to turn to a fiery, needing pain.
Riddick sat at the controls though, not willing to go lie down or even acknowledge his need to treat the wound. There was too much to do, to many things were going wrong with the skiff.
The NavSys was too outdated, too fuckin old to be of much use, so Riddick had to rely on charts and graphs to plot their course. The SolTrek shipping lanes were over a week away at their speed.
The skiff's interior electrical system, eaten away from over 22 years sitting in the hot, dry, baking sun, was in constant need of repair. Riddick spent more of his time in the belly of the ship, splicing wire, rerouting current and just plain improvising, then he actually spent flying the ship.
He finally set the ship to 'EDock' procedures, allowing the ship to be pulled in by any passing craft willing to take them aboard. It was a last resort, one he knew could be signing all their death warrants, but it was all he could give them. All he had left. The slim hope that whatever ship passed was one that would take the others home, shelter them, protect the girl.
On the third day when he finally allowed himself to sleep, gave in to the throb of his entire body Riddick laid down on the cold grated floor and closed his eyes. The huge silvery spots that swam before his closed lids drawing him down into a blackness he craved.
The man had come to him first, asking to let his leg be seen, let them attempt to work on his festering wound. Riddick had snarled and snapped at the man, pushing him back.
The girl was next, her gentle touch and cool hands lulling him into a state of calm for brief periods. Riddick had felt his pants being cut away near the wound and hissed when she pulled the material from the oozing gash.
He'd roared with the pain, sending her scurrying back on all fours, butt scraping the floor, arms and legs moving frantically. Imam had began chanting louder, his voice trembling with his fear. Riddick had passed out then. His mind carrying him from the pain.
Dreams of claws and teeth, death and light. Flashes so bright even his dream eyes squinted in pain. Fry's body being pulled from his arms, death in her eyes, made his dream self cry. The boy/girl Jack laughing at her ability to fool him for so long. In the background of his dream was the constant chanting of The Holy Man. Incessant, droning, nerve wracking sounds.
When he swam up from the darkness of his splintered sleep Riddick again screamed with the sudden, hot, blinding pain. This time though, Jack held her ground. She flinched, and ducked as if avoiding a physical blow, but she stayed by his side.
"The MedKit was useless. No antibiotic creams or saves. I cleaned it out and bandaged the cut." She had shrugged and lowered her head.
Riidick lowered his eyes and pulled tightly into himself.
Four days of agony, four days to lie between the living and the dead. He could never tell which it was. Thoughts became reality, reality a floating, surreal dream. Four days of Jack crying softly at his side, Imam praying for his lost soul. Four days Riddick lay dying.
The stench of his infection even made his stomach roll. He'd eaten maggots and worse to stay alive, he'd seen more blood spilled, tasted it even and never felt such nausea. Riddick had been the cause of guts tumbling, brains splattered, limbs torn and yet never had he been this revolted. He would have wondered how the others were able to stand being near him if his mind could have allowed such a coherent thought.
His mind allowed him to wish. For the first time since childhood, Riddick was free to want. He was allowed to long for things he'd never permitted himself before.
A woman, not a whore, to love him. A child with his eyes, before the shine job. A place to call home. Love of friends and family. Trust. So many things that he'd tucked into a safe, light place in the back of his mind were set free in the end.
The simple pleasure of freedom. To be able to rid himself of the constant worry, anxiety and overpowering hatred he felt.
Riddick came awake one final time. The girl at his side holding his hand, her finger worrying his rough, torn knuckles, her eyes wet and red with tears. The Holy Man lightly stroking his shoulder chanting to his god. Riddick, through his fog and pain was able to squeeze Jack's hand and smile sadly before he fell into one last, never-ending darkness.
Freedom
In darkness he lay, curled tightly into himself, knees tucked to chest, arms wrapped around his legs. Pain seemed to pour from every nerve. His mind was white hot with both fever and regret. As tremors racked him, as his body shook with torment, he felt a small cool hand gently touch his back.
"Riddick?" it was the girl. The one they'd all thought a boy. She had fooled even him with her disguise. For awhile.
Riddick pulled his head from his knees with a huge effort. His eyes barley able to see her though she was within inches. He saw the worry etched in her face, the downward curve of her lips, creases in her normally unlined brow. And a tear. There was one small tear sliding down her cheek. For him.
It angered Riddick. If she was crying for him, he must be dying, must be weak. With an effort greater then any he'd ever used before, it seemed, he shook his head slowly back and forth. He wanted nothing more then to be left alone.
"Please let me clean it. Rididck, please." she begged. The single tear now joined by others, spilling down her cheeks. Sliding along her chin.
Again he moved his head, telling her 'no' without words. He had none. For, thought his mind was exploding with thought, his voice was gone. The agony of his infected leg having rendered him mute.
"Tell them Riddick's dead." he remembered those works. He'd uttered them only days before, but now it seemed they would be true.
Once off that hell hole of a planet they'd all thought themselve's safe, as safe as could be on a tiny ancient skiff.
Riddick had seen the worry and fear in The Holy Man's eyes. They were alone with a killer after all. The kid had shown no fear, no worry at being trapped inside with the notorious Richard B. Riddick.
He'd been unsure if her lack of anxiety was because he had saved them once, or if Jack was just plain insane. Driven there by those creatures, the endless night, the deaths of her 'friends'.
He knew within a few hours of their fiery take-off that his leg was worse then he'd at first thought. He could feel the dull ache begin to turn to a fiery, needing pain.
Riddick sat at the controls though, not willing to go lie down or even acknowledge his need to treat the wound. There was too much to do, to many things were going wrong with the skiff.
The NavSys was too outdated, too fuckin old to be of much use, so Riddick had to rely on charts and graphs to plot their course. The SolTrek shipping lanes were over a week away at their speed.
The skiff's interior electrical system, eaten away from over 22 years sitting in the hot, dry, baking sun, was in constant need of repair. Riddick spent more of his time in the belly of the ship, splicing wire, rerouting current and just plain improvising, then he actually spent flying the ship.
He finally set the ship to 'EDock' procedures, allowing the ship to be pulled in by any passing craft willing to take them aboard. It was a last resort, one he knew could be signing all their death warrants, but it was all he could give them. All he had left. The slim hope that whatever ship passed was one that would take the others home, shelter them, protect the girl.
On the third day when he finally allowed himself to sleep, gave in to the throb of his entire body Riddick laid down on the cold grated floor and closed his eyes. The huge silvery spots that swam before his closed lids drawing him down into a blackness he craved.
The man had come to him first, asking to let his leg be seen, let them attempt to work on his festering wound. Riddick had snarled and snapped at the man, pushing him back.
The girl was next, her gentle touch and cool hands lulling him into a state of calm for brief periods. Riddick had felt his pants being cut away near the wound and hissed when she pulled the material from the oozing gash.
He'd roared with the pain, sending her scurrying back on all fours, butt scraping the floor, arms and legs moving frantically. Imam had began chanting louder, his voice trembling with his fear. Riddick had passed out then. His mind carrying him from the pain.
Dreams of claws and teeth, death and light. Flashes so bright even his dream eyes squinted in pain. Fry's body being pulled from his arms, death in her eyes, made his dream self cry. The boy/girl Jack laughing at her ability to fool him for so long. In the background of his dream was the constant chanting of The Holy Man. Incessant, droning, nerve wracking sounds.
When he swam up from the darkness of his splintered sleep Riddick again screamed with the sudden, hot, blinding pain. This time though, Jack held her ground. She flinched, and ducked as if avoiding a physical blow, but she stayed by his side.
"The MedKit was useless. No antibiotic creams or saves. I cleaned it out and bandaged the cut." She had shrugged and lowered her head.
Riidick lowered his eyes and pulled tightly into himself.
Four days of agony, four days to lie between the living and the dead. He could never tell which it was. Thoughts became reality, reality a floating, surreal dream. Four days of Jack crying softly at his side, Imam praying for his lost soul. Four days Riddick lay dying.
The stench of his infection even made his stomach roll. He'd eaten maggots and worse to stay alive, he'd seen more blood spilled, tasted it even and never felt such nausea. Riddick had been the cause of guts tumbling, brains splattered, limbs torn and yet never had he been this revolted. He would have wondered how the others were able to stand being near him if his mind could have allowed such a coherent thought.
His mind allowed him to wish. For the first time since childhood, Riddick was free to want. He was allowed to long for things he'd never permitted himself before.
A woman, not a whore, to love him. A child with his eyes, before the shine job. A place to call home. Love of friends and family. Trust. So many things that he'd tucked into a safe, light place in the back of his mind were set free in the end.
The simple pleasure of freedom. To be able to rid himself of the constant worry, anxiety and overpowering hatred he felt.
Riddick came awake one final time. The girl at his side holding his hand, her finger worrying his rough, torn knuckles, her eyes wet and red with tears. The Holy Man lightly stroking his shoulder chanting to his god. Riddick, through his fog and pain was able to squeeze Jack's hand and smile sadly before he fell into one last, never-ending darkness.