The silence after drowning
Warnings/notes: Crawford/Schuldich, failed drabble, weird, ooc, takes place at the end of the serie.
Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz.
(!)Spoilers for the end of the 'normal' serie.
written at 27th december 2004, by Misura, for Tysoyo Kalli, as a small Christmas-present.
Drowning, Crawford thought, was a lot like having sex with Schuldich.
You tried to stay in control, but your body disobeyed your mind, trashing helplessly, moving without you wanting it to. The flesh was weak, and all that. And you had to admit that the pain was mixed with a certain amount of pleasure. At least the promise of pleasure was there, luring you onwards, tempting you into hoping that you'd be able to hang on.
You had to fight for every breath you took, and you experienced each one like it might be your last, because you felt like you were on fire, your lungs and your skin and just everything. Breathing, surviving, was a struggle that drained you from all energy, until it was all your world consisted of; this desperate urge to breathe, in and out.
After a while that felt like an eternity even if it wasn't, you wanted to give up, to just let go, since you'd reached the limit of your strength, a point beyond which you simply couldn't go, an uncrossable border. And at exactly that point, that one moment when despair was about to be replaced by a dull acceptance, you'd feel yourself shatter, tossed upwards and torn downwards and spun around in a whirlpool of suffering and ecstasy. And you'd know you'd lost again, and that you wouldn't even get the consolation of being really dead this time.
Schuldich was much too cruel to let you die. Or maybe he just didn't like to break his toys while he could still get some fun out of them.
Crawford coughed, spitting out water, too weak even to open his eyes. He wasn't exactly comfortable, lying here (another thing that drowning and having-sex-with-Schuldich had in common), but he felt he didn't have much of a choice at the moment.
At least it was quiet. No nasal german voice to mock him, to order him to move over and get its owner a beer. Crawford sighed, seriously contemplating a prayer of thanks for that small mercy.
"Brad? You alive?"
Right. He was an atheist. That had to be why Someone Up There seemed to hate him.