Ken isn't watching Youji any more. He's too busy tugging at the wire, testing the strength of the knot.
Then, that done, he looks down at it and swallows. It looks awfully thin...
Awfully thin and awfully frail, frail as cobweb and damn the fact that cobweb is supposed to be so strong, it always broke easy enough when he touched it. Never mind that just handling it has left Ken's palms and fingers sticky with his own blood, blood that looks almost black in the light of the flames (but where's the pain? shouldn't that have left him hurting?) and he can't help but wonder, will this take my weight? Never mind that he knows what it is, that he's seen it before, seen Youji hefting heavyset men nearly twice his size off their feet with his wire... now it comes down to it, he's just plain frightened.
But the flames are licking the struts of the catwalk and, on the walkway before him, stands the quiet figure of a man he would recognize anyway, a man who he killed. The wire looks thin and sharp and uninviting but to walk forward, now, would be suicide.
Here goes nothing, he thinks - and, gripping the wire so tightly he can feel it biting into his palms, feel blood crawling hot and sticky down blistering skin, he swings himself over the side of the catwalk.
For a moment he simply hangs there, waiting for whatever happens next to happen: for the knot to slip, for the wire to snap and send him plummeting to the ground, to lie bleeding and broken with nothing to do but wait for the flames to claim him-- nothing, of course, happens. He simply dangles there, clinging desperately to the wire and fighting the urge to look down: then, closing his eyes, he slolwy inches his way down the length of the wire, trying to ignore how thin it feels beneath his grip, the agonizing scrape of metal on metal as the wire grates against the handrail. Slowly, slowly he makes his way downward, only daring to open his eyes when he feels the first brush of the concrete floor against the soles of his shoes...
Ken lets go of the wire, collapses to his knees. He's out of breath, he's trembling, his eyes slip closed again as he curls up on the floor, shaking uncontrollably. Oh, God, he's thinking. Then: Oh, God, how am I going to get out?
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Date: 2010-03-28 10:34 am (UTC)Then, that done, he looks down at it and swallows. It looks awfully thin...
Awfully thin and awfully frail, frail as cobweb and damn the fact that cobweb is supposed to be so strong, it always broke easy enough when he touched it. Never mind that just handling it has left Ken's palms and fingers sticky with his own blood, blood that looks almost black in the light of the flames (but where's the pain? shouldn't that have left him hurting?) and he can't help but wonder, will this take my weight? Never mind that he knows what it is, that he's seen it before, seen Youji hefting heavyset men nearly twice his size off their feet with his wire... now it comes down to it, he's just plain frightened.
But the flames are licking the struts of the catwalk and, on the walkway before him, stands the quiet figure of a man he would recognize anyway, a man who he killed. The wire looks thin and sharp and uninviting but to walk forward, now, would be suicide.
Here goes nothing, he thinks - and, gripping the wire so tightly he can feel it biting into his palms, feel blood crawling hot and sticky down blistering skin, he swings himself over the side of the catwalk.
For a moment he simply hangs there, waiting for whatever happens next to happen: for the knot to slip, for the wire to snap and send him plummeting to the ground, to lie bleeding and broken with nothing to do but wait for the flames to claim him-- nothing, of course, happens. He simply dangles there, clinging desperately to the wire and fighting the urge to look down: then, closing his eyes, he slolwy inches his way down the length of the wire, trying to ignore how thin it feels beneath his grip, the agonizing scrape of metal on metal as the wire grates against the handrail. Slowly, slowly he makes his way downward, only daring to open his eyes when he feels the first brush of the concrete floor against the soles of his shoes...
Ken lets go of the wire, collapses to his knees. He's out of breath, he's trembling, his eyes slip closed again as he curls up on the floor, shaking uncontrollably. Oh, God, he's thinking. Then: Oh, God, how am I going to get out?
Even the air seems cleaner down here.
He raises his head. He says, "Youji."