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escritoireazulTitle: After
Author: escritoireazul
Written for:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
das_hydra for December Drabbles. Uh, in 2008, in a card that I don't think I ever sent. Which is probably in the box with the gifts I haven't sent. Because I suck. So here's the drabble I wrote you (by hand!), only three years late.
Author's note: This is a transformative work of fiction set after the movie The Lost Boys, and does not take into account the sequels.
Rating: 13+
Word count: 300
Summary: He is haunted by his past, and the setting of his sins.
David has nothing left of them, the Lost Boys, no ash, no bone, no piece of metal jewelry. He wakes, and pulls the antlers from his chest. They slip from his skin with a sickening sound, and a burst of pain that leaves him crumpled.
He would not notice, but he is dry, the blood run out of his wounds.
He touches his face, and it is ashy, flaking away.
David knows he cannot remain in Santa Carla. He is too weak, too faded. He hates to run, but it is better to survive, grow strong, return to rend them limb from limb and dance beneath the bloody spray.
Sunrise stops him near Seaside, Oregon. There is a boardwalk, like a memory haunting him, and he does not expect it so far from California. He avoids it, heads south again until he reaches Tillamook Head, and the lighthouse there, isolated on a basalt island just off the coast. It is a memory, too, and it draws him in.
He can smell the dead inside. It is a fitting place to wait the passing of the sun.
The columbarium houses row after row of cinerary urns. He sits amongst them, his head tilted back.
He is starving. It will go bad for the first person he meets when dark comes again.
David sleeps, and waits, and revenge twists his mind.
He kills twice within minutes of sunset, stalking the boardwalk alone. Then, far from sated but the first thirst gone, he realizes he’s being watched from a distance.
There’s a flash of red and black in the crowd.
He has no patience for games, no desire for anything but the hunt, the kill, the vengeance.
And yet.
David turns, and begins to track.
Author: escritoireazul
Written for:
das_hydra for December Drabbles. Uh, in 2008, in a card that I don't think I ever sent. Which is probably in the box with the gifts I haven't sent. Because I suck. So here's the drabble I wrote you (by hand!), only three years late. Author's note: This is a transformative work of fiction set after the movie The Lost Boys, and does not take into account the sequels.
Rating: 13+
Word count: 300
Summary: He is haunted by his past, and the setting of his sins.
David has nothing left of them, the Lost Boys, no ash, no bone, no piece of metal jewelry. He wakes, and pulls the antlers from his chest. They slip from his skin with a sickening sound, and a burst of pain that leaves him crumpled.
He would not notice, but he is dry, the blood run out of his wounds.
He touches his face, and it is ashy, flaking away.
David knows he cannot remain in Santa Carla. He is too weak, too faded. He hates to run, but it is better to survive, grow strong, return to rend them limb from limb and dance beneath the bloody spray.
Sunrise stops him near Seaside, Oregon. There is a boardwalk, like a memory haunting him, and he does not expect it so far from California. He avoids it, heads south again until he reaches Tillamook Head, and the lighthouse there, isolated on a basalt island just off the coast. It is a memory, too, and it draws him in.
He can smell the dead inside. It is a fitting place to wait the passing of the sun.
The columbarium houses row after row of cinerary urns. He sits amongst them, his head tilted back.
He is starving. It will go bad for the first person he meets when dark comes again.
David sleeps, and waits, and revenge twists his mind.
He kills twice within minutes of sunset, stalking the boardwalk alone. Then, far from sated but the first thirst gone, he realizes he’s being watched from a distance.
There’s a flash of red and black in the crowd.
He has no patience for games, no desire for anything but the hunt, the kill, the vengeance.
And yet.
David turns, and begins to track.
