AN: Well my fellow readers and writers here is my first-shot at a one-shot (or a drabble), and about Jumanji no less! I know that all my other stories are long over due on an update but this popped up first so i would say: sit back and enjoy!
Disclaimer: Sadly i can't claim al the money that was made with the movie rendition of it since Jumaji is not my own idea, but just imagine how rich i would be if i did!
He looked at his hands, as the girl had whispered in fear for him to do so. When he did he screamed for they were dissolving like wisps of smoke. The house spun and danced before his eyes and he screamed and screamed as the house disappeared from view as did the voice of the girl he liked so much. He would have continued to scream if he could, but he could not for darkness surrounded him.
Pure and utter darkness.
It was so oppressing that he felt no air in his lungs as if he were choking on something vile. It however wasn't painful; in fact he felt nothing at all. It was when he realized this that his panic turned into pure unaltered horror because he couldn't feel his lungs or any other part of his body for that matter. Not his hands, not his legs, not his face. He no longer even felt his erratic heartbeat that had all but been bursting out of his chest. Fear was all he was, and he feared most of all that he was no longer alive.
Then the silence was broken, but it was not by his heartbeat nor his voice, but a strong thumping that was not, could not be, his childish and scared heart. It was the strong drumming of a heart older, ages and eons older, than his. It was the sound that had gotten him in this predicament to begin with, the one that should have increased his feeling of horror exponentially instead though it brought him a sense of calm, wonder and strength he had not felt all his short life long.
What power! What vast life pulsed through him in that singular moment, it lasted an eternity but one that was nonetheless too short. He could only describe it, years later, that for that moment he was nothing yet everything at the same time. He smelled things he had never smelt before, saw things he had never seen before even though he had no eyes to speak of, heard sounds that with ears he could not have heard, and knew things that only the shrouds of history had know till then. It was loud, extremely so, yet it was silent at the same time. Describing it as a loud silence would not do it justice. Everything was yet nothing existed. Just for a moment he was not Allen Parrish, heir to a lineage older than his hometown and a schoolboy who was ganged upon by bullies, but part of the ages-old entity of Jumanji. Like all moments however it was fleeting and it passed.
He was himself again, again Allen Parrish, the boy whom thought of himself as nothing much. He fell to the ground and he gratefully took breaths of air, gladly felt the pain as he hit the air that he inhaled was cool yet warm at the same time. Smells bombarding him that a moment ago he had know so well but were now all but unfamiliar. He felt the earth beneath his finger and touched it as if he revered it a god and cried tears of joy as he felt his own hear beat in its erratic manner. It was only when his eyes opened and took in a sight in front of him that he saw for the first time how deep in the shit he was. He was like most young boys in the aspect that he was not afraid of spiders. Usually that was.
The spider its black eyes as big as his head gazing at him in surprise and its leg as tall as the entrance door to the mansion he called a home stood stationary. That monstrosity towered in front of him and it made him do something he had not been able to do in that beautifully powerful singular moment; he took in a large puff of air and with a sense of satisfaction and delight he made a high-pitched noise known as a scream, an action he would soon come to regret. The spider returned the favor with a screech, one that overpowered his own, and the perished Parrish ran like his life depended on it, which, for once, was the case. He ran into the darkness that was the Jungle of Jumanji, though he knew that not yet. He would come to know it though, as good as one could anyway. Perhaps more important was that, though he would not know it, from that moment on he was no longer the same and would only continue to change. He would still feel fear, as any mortal should, certainly within this dark and dangerous place, but he had been part of something that was not mortal and so that feeling of endless strength lay within in him, this courage that had always been his strengthened by it, still waiting to be woken. It was also incidentally from that moment on he would curse his childhood crush to damnation for not throwing a 5 or 8, for 26 years long would be his wait.
AN: Well folks tell me what you think! Also I leave it now as a one-shot though I might continue it or if someone else feels up to that, be my guest! - S.K.