Post by Fiona on Jul 24, 2011 11:57:24 GMT -5
Disclaimer: I do not own Albert Wesker or Chris Redfield. I don’t own the RE series. That belongs to Capcom or Shinji Mikami. I’m not quite sure.
A/N: Chris has nightmares. It’s open to interpretation as to when this particular event occurs. After the event in the Arklay mountains or before/during RE5. Gosh, I’m such a nut for Biohazard. xD
Bold orbs lacked humanity as they lingered behind darkness. They were as perceptive as ever, analyzing prey when needed.
A long time ago, they had once been an icy shade of cobalt.
He had always been afraid of what lied beneath the surface. In fact, he had a very good reason to be. Nights long after the incident in the mansion were spent writhing in despair. Year had passed and the horrors still haunted him. Sheets would tangle around him like vines. The vise-like grip refused to break. Sweat saturated cotton. Moans were similar to those of the living dead. And he would always wake before he had the chance to see those damn eyes. After each jolt, he would resort to pacing around his room from the sheer frustration of it all. It was the minute fear that rested within the pit of his stomach. Slowly, it was growing like a parasite. That same fear refused to reveal the truth.
When he finally saw those eyes in his dreams, he was terrified as any human should be.
The pupils were narrowed slits, similar to a feline’s when exposed to light or lack thereof. Shades of red mingled and danced like lapping flames. Funny how he was reminded of childhood. Funny how it brought back memories of his sister and a small fire that he had built for them. Orange swirled around black pupils. Crimson, as deep as blood, followed after orange’s lead. Flecks of yellow flitted through. The definition of inhumanity. Just one glance was enough.
A lone, gloved finger, clad in leather, gingerly pushed the dark shades up the bridge of his nose. Defined cheekbones twitched in response. The lips began to form a wry smirk. What was this man? Who was this man?
He didn’t know anymore.
Nor did he want to.
Feels like fire, he now thinks to himself.
Funny how in his dreams he was able to see those inhuman orbs. At least it’s better than Hell.
And still, he writhes.
A/N: Chris has nightmares. It’s open to interpretation as to when this particular event occurs. After the event in the Arklay mountains or before/during RE5. Gosh, I’m such a nut for Biohazard. xD
Bold orbs lacked humanity as they lingered behind darkness. They were as perceptive as ever, analyzing prey when needed.
A long time ago, they had once been an icy shade of cobalt.
He had always been afraid of what lied beneath the surface. In fact, he had a very good reason to be. Nights long after the incident in the mansion were spent writhing in despair. Year had passed and the horrors still haunted him. Sheets would tangle around him like vines. The vise-like grip refused to break. Sweat saturated cotton. Moans were similar to those of the living dead. And he would always wake before he had the chance to see those damn eyes. After each jolt, he would resort to pacing around his room from the sheer frustration of it all. It was the minute fear that rested within the pit of his stomach. Slowly, it was growing like a parasite. That same fear refused to reveal the truth.
When he finally saw those eyes in his dreams, he was terrified as any human should be.
The pupils were narrowed slits, similar to a feline’s when exposed to light or lack thereof. Shades of red mingled and danced like lapping flames. Funny how he was reminded of childhood. Funny how it brought back memories of his sister and a small fire that he had built for them. Orange swirled around black pupils. Crimson, as deep as blood, followed after orange’s lead. Flecks of yellow flitted through. The definition of inhumanity. Just one glance was enough.
A lone, gloved finger, clad in leather, gingerly pushed the dark shades up the bridge of his nose. Defined cheekbones twitched in response. The lips began to form a wry smirk. What was this man? Who was this man?
He didn’t know anymore.
Nor did he want to.
Feels like fire, he now thinks to himself.
Funny how in his dreams he was able to see those inhuman orbs. At least it’s better than Hell.
And still, he writhes.
