Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ I'm Free ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

Trigun Fanfic

Summary:Why did it all go wrong? When did it all go wrong? He has a vague sense that he isn't where he's supposed to be, that he's being held by invisible bonds that he cannot see. Great sadness engulfs him as he looks upon the glowing bulbs and one thought reigns in his mind as he looks at the people looking back at him: You can't take me! I'm free!

 

Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow * Shonen Gaho-sha * Tokuma Shoten * JVC * Pioneer Entertainment (USA) Inc.

The following fan fiction was written by me (Chiruken) and is intended for the sole purpose of shared entertainment and not intended for publication or sale.

 

I'm Free

 

By Chiruken

 

Chapter 5

 

Gunsmoke, Present Day:

 

The darkness surrounded him like a velvet blanket, muffling his senses. Throughout it all odd images would drift passed him, things he could readily identify, yet found he had no explanation as to why they were appearing in his dream-like state. A good example of this strange phenomenon were the doughnuts currently floating by him, some sugar coated, others with colourful candy sprinkles, and the odd few chocolate dipped. He assumed that, like the dancing pudding cups, they were someone else's drifting thoughts somehow making their way into his mind. Though he did enjoy the sweet pastries, he never obsessed over them to the extent the shear number of these images suggested at.

 

At the edge of his awareness he could still feel pain, but in the cocoon of darkness it was reduced to a dull ache rather than stabbing shards of agony. For this reason alone he was content to remain where he was, floating in a haze of half-aware musings and disjointed memories. A part of him rebelled, demanding that he force his way through the fog and awaken, arguing that he had unfinished business to attend to…though at the moment he wasn't entirely certain what could be so important as to force himself to emerge into what he knew would be a painful awakening. Another part whispered that it was better this way, that it was best that he didn't know and remain in blissful ignorance. The two sides waged a silent battle, each arguing their side until he was certain they'd drive him to madness with their incessant bickering. Dimly, he was aware that he should be alarmed by this apparent split in what he assumed to be his personality, yet he couldn't quite dredge up the strength to do more than try to ignore the two voices echoing through the darkness that comprised the scope of his awareness.

 

Occasionally the shadows would lift and he would view the world through a hazy fog. He would become aware, first, of agony radiating outwards, throbbing through his body with each beat of his heart. If the pain didn't push him back into the cushioning oblivion he would then move on to other sensations, the foremost being oppressive heat that weighted him down and stole his breath away. This, to him, was just another reason to remain within the void he was becoming familiar with. At least there physical discomfort was muted to where he could tolerate it. Unfortunately, he was also aware that he couldn't remain there indefinitely, that he would have to eventually emerge into reality and face whatever would be waiting for him there. Despite his desire to procrastinate, he decided that the sooner he got it over with, the sooner he would learn what it was that had happened to put him in such a state. Not knowing was beginning to irritate him.

 

Bracing himself for the inevitable pain he knew would assail him, he forced his consciousness to push harder against the thick haze muffling the world outside the darkness he'd been dwelling in for an indeterminate amount of time. As he'd expected, the first sensation to register in his mind was pain followed immediately by the heat he'd anticipated. Forcing himself to endure the discomfort, he waited until an alarming wave of nausea had passed before focusing on his surroundings.

 

He could hear a soft shushing as if from a great distance and it took him several moment to identify the noise as that of wind-blown sand brushing against rock. Satisfied with this explanation, he focused on the other sounds drifting to him. A small frown furrowed his forehead as he picked up the unmistakable sound of quiet breathing near by. Concentrating on this, he decided that whoever belonged to the breathing was probably asleep judging by the deep, even breaths.

 

Slowly opening his eyes he blinked several times until finally the ceiling came into partial focus. Dull and ugly with cracked and peeling paint that was chipped away in places to reveal sterile steel plating beneath. The materials had obviously been salvaged, at some point in time, from one of the fallen ships of Project SEEDS. He frowned, wondering where this knowledge…this certainty…came from. Deciding that it didn't really matter, he concentrated on turning his head to observe the rest of the room he found himself in. The walls were nearly identical to the ceiling, dingy and lifeless, ugly beyond belief. There was a single, small window to the side of the bed, glass panes pitted from the constant barrage of wind driven sand brushing against it. Dim light filtered into the room through the bare window, casting a sickly, yellowed glow over the small, cramped room.

 

The now almost familiar combined scents of gunpowder and ink, yeast and floral soap, drifted to him, teasing his senses again. Turning his head the other way, slowly, fighting against the black spots forming in his vision, he gritted his teeth and pushed back the darkness threatening to engulf him again. He wanted to see who belonged to the intriguing scent before he succumbed and returned to the oblivion of unconsciousness.

 

With his vision narrowing, he could make out a form resting in a rickety wooden chair, paint peeling…just like the walls and the ceiling of the room he was in…and flaking off in chunks to reveal weather-worn and sand-blasted wood beneath. Gritting his teeth, he narrowed his eyes and studied the figure, gaze roving over short dark hair falling into a face he couldn't quite see, due in large part, he supposed, because her chin was currently resting on her chest. How he knew the person was female was a mystery, but he was certain of it. A white cloak hung from her slender shoulders, opening to reveal…much to his surprise…a large number of single-shot Derringers. Ah, he thought with a small smile curving his lips upwards, the scent of gunpowder. He wondered who she could possible be but despite his curiosity he felt himself drifting into the darkness again. Allowing his eyes to slide closed he sighed softly and allowed the cushioning cocoon of unconsciousness to engulf him once again.

 

 

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