Awakenings

The eye opened slowly, a faint light still glimmering in it's depths, a reflection from the shattered mirrors and glass that lay in the room around it.
The faint whine and hum of a fan was the only sound nearby, apart from the steady drip drip drip of a tap. Outside through the broken skylight the sky was a mixture of greys and blacks, with the occasional twinkle of a hidden star shining through.
The low rumble of thunder broke the silence, a distant rolling growl of the sky as first the distant sigh, then gathering hiss of rain began to fall over the city.
The figure slowly stood up, joints cracked, bones ached, muscules complained. It was a cold night, and the throbbing ache of their almost shattered body did not serve to help the situation.
The sound of the tap was drowned out now, lost in the thousands of dribble drop splashes of the rain seeping in through the broken roof, skylight and ceiling. As buildings go, this one had seen far better days.
Slow, unsteady movements took the figure to the window; a shimmering haze of lights distorted by the rain greeted their eyes, the city brooding in the darkness as the rains continued to fall.
Somewhere the faint echos of a clock slowly beginning to chime the eleventh hour drifted to their ears as they watched, silently, the slow trickle of light from vehicles moving through the web of the cities streets.
Through the headache that made it seem like their head was shuddering in such a way as to threaten to fall from their shoulders with every heartbeat slow questions and realisations began to form.

Rain

The door creaked, almost in warning, as the figure opened it; stepping out through in onto an old balcony that held them precariously outside the building. The rains had not eased at all, and were rapidly soaking through their clothing to their skin. Something nagged at their mind as they began to sort through the muddled memories, a glimpse of a face, a blink of a moment, a breath of a scent. Nothing really hung together for more than a fleeting moment, and the rain that was pouring down around them really wasn't helping anything beyond a slow chilling sensation from the cold night air.
A flash of lightning lit the whole city for a moment, the merest instant where everything was visible, an ironic reflection of the figures state of mind perhaps as the universe silently laughed at their fate.
A long slow sigh then a turn and several unsteady, stumbling footsteps returned the figure to the room. The questions were there, but so many, and the answers seemed to dance like fleeting wisps before vanishing the moment they tried to focus on them.
The room too, held no more clues, a dirty stained mattress with a sheet that had once been white. A pillow carelessly cast into the corner of it, half hanging over the side into one of the slowly forming puddles that were swelling on the floor from the streams of water from above.
There were mirrors at least; the figure realised that this, at least, presented an opportunity for at least some measure of answer, as the realisation dawned on them that even where simple appearance was concerned, they had simply no idea who they were.

Reflections

Cracks and dirt blurred the reflection on the mirror, a cloud of grime and distortion that fragmented the view of the figure from their already aching eyes. But they stared at it nevertheless, because it was the only idea for any kind of action that they had at this time.
Pale grey eyes stared questioningly back at them, the red rims around the edges just another sign of the exhaustion they felt only too well inside and now, they realised, outside as well. Their face was thin, pale, almost drawn; a small shred of thought sparked at this wondering if they looked better when they were feeling well, or was it just the lighting, the grime, the ache in mind and body that was giving them a look, almost, of an emaciated corpse. This only served to make their stomach growl faintly, another pain to consider as the pang of hunger and the rough, dry feeling in their mouth made them force swallow in an effort to clear their throat; the effort making them wince.
Hunger aside, they continued to inspect themselves. Pale lips, thinly brushed around their mouth with a delicate hand sagged slightly, an almost forlorn expression. Their hair was fairly short, laying in bedraggled clumps over their ears and in sodden clumps over their forehead from where the water was dripping. Their clothes were grimy cast-offs that had seen far better days, a tattered faded blue shirt and pockmarked jeans.
They raised their hand slowly up to their face, fingers pressing small dimples into their cheek as they studied themselves, trying to register for a moment the sensation their the continued fuzziness of their mind and the throbbing pain of their body.
Their nails were carefully trimmed, they noted; short but definitely cared for. They were someone who had an attention for detail and appearance perhaps? The questions seemed to be growing, rather than being answered.

(no subject)

Poke at your own risk

Adaptions

With Scooby Doo, Spiderman and other adaptions coming out for nostalgic programs it's time for more to hit the big screen...

Teletubbies : Napalm Apocolypse Now edition
Magic Roundabout : The post Betty Ford years
Bagpuss : Emily finds a crack syringe
The A-Team : Now with guns that can hit people
Monkey : Featuring Jackie Chan as Monkey and Tim Curry as Tripitaka