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So as it turns out this time I couldn't sleep because I feel horrible~ Haha. Not being able to hear out of my left ear properly has thrown my balance off and started to make me sick. That is where most of my inspiration comes from tonight - since I'm on vacation and have no work. A fun fact? Only hearing from one side actually improved my CoD: Black Ops skills. No lie.
Anyway, enjoy installment number three. It should at least be better than Sephiroth's copypasta from another forum. xP I tease, fox-kun. I enjoyed your ATLA stuff you posted so far. Oh and feel free to comment here, as always.
PS: I miss writing in first person sometimes.
Nauseating. At the time that is all I could think as I curled upon the floor, wracked with the pain of his blow. Of all the people to so swiftly put me on the ground - why that self-righteous bastard? It wasn't as if self-righteousness wasn't the basis of everything I did in those times, because it definitely was, but I was certain my goals were more impassioned with justice than his. Wasn't the good guy supposed to win? The hero dealing the final blow as he flashed through images of his friends? That is when I remembered I didn't have any friends.
Like I said, nauseating. I clawed both of my hands at the cold, stone floor as my aching muscles failed to pull my suddenly heavy body to its feet. Each time a muscle tensed to do some work my stomach clenched tightly, somehow squeezing and choking my sight into a blur. I opened my mouth to shout at him 'It isn't over yet,' but as my throat lurched to let the words escape only vile, acidic liquid poured out in front of me. My arms were barely strong enough to hold my head from collapsing into it, and even through the blurs the swirls of crimson liquid were obvious.
From nauseating to nauseated. Every part of my body ached and screamed for the chance to lash out at him, and every thought in my mind raced for a way to make it happen. Somehow I managed to roll over onto my back - almost getting more sick watching the swirling sky. Then all I could think was 'Why punch me in the stomach? Why punch me at all? I'd much rather be dead than defeated. What kind of a fa-' I grit my teeth to retain the frustration I knew would only come out as more regurgitation. I lay there, quivering like a child for what felt like a lifetime, until finally he spoke to me.
"Come on now, get up before I feel sorry for you, kid. I haven't even touched you yet. Well? Don't just lay there breathing heavy," It came out too clear for it to be reality, but that was my clue to what he had really done to me. An illusion technique. To be defeated without even a chance of fighting back... Nauseating.
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A Tale of Relevance #3, Sleep does not forgive a strong will...
