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Jun. 11th, 2009 02:30 amCOMM: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
justprompts - Lost
VERSE:realityshifted
WORD COUNT: 713
Ever since things had gone right to hell, Ray had been even rougher on the people he knocked around. He never said why, never made any mention of anything, but it was plain to see that he put more force in his punches, in his strangleholds, in his restraints. He seemed just barely on the verge of snapping and doing permanent damage to whatever poor sod found himself on the receiving end - and Ray knew it.
The bloke who was now sporting a broken nose was starting to realise it a bit as well. It wasn't an interrogation, and the violence that Ray was using was uncalled for, but he didn't particularly care. The man had pissed him the hell off, and Ray was going to do whatever he felt like, especially if it meant turning the man's face into a bloody pulp. He didn't even know the man's name. It wasn't important. Not nearly as important as throwing an arm up to block a punch, then using his other to send a blow to the gut back to his opponent.
The man doubled over, and Ray grabbed him by his shoulders then proceeded to yank him upright. Ray took only a moment to look the man in the eyes before he smashed his head against his victim's. The shock and pain tore through his skull, but he ignored it as he threw the man to the ground seconds after.
Ray managed to get a few kicks in before someone dragged him away; he was sorely tempted to start being the shit out of them as well, but decided against it. His hands were already a bit sore, and his head was aching. He was better off calling it quits for now - if he felt like continuing, he was pretty sure he could find both of them to finish the job.
* * *
He was still brimming with the need to hit something when he got home. He slammed the door behind him, which was enough to snap Chris (who was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall) out of his stupor. Ray didn't pay him any mind and ignored the curious stare and simply stalked by, headed off to his room.
Ray stood directly facing the wall and drew back his fist. With one quick motion, he slammed it into where he knew there was a stud, and was rewarded with the painful shock of flesh, muscle, and bone against a good, solid wall. He drew his fist back, and hit it again. Again. Again. Eventually, the pain started to fade away as it was replaced with adrenaline, and all he focused on was the hard sound of his blows hitting the wall.
He didn't want to think about things. It was nicer to just indulge in violence. Thinking about it made him feel weaker, like something had been taken from him, though he couldn't pinpoint what exactly. Thinking about it meant-
He smashed his hand into the wall again, leaving a small smear of black.
What the hell did it mean, anyway? If he thought about it, was he admitting he was weak? Because shit, he knew he wasn't. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't as if he had any way of-
Ray threw his fist again and fixed his eyes on the growing smear of black. It didn't look like blood - blood was red, blood flowed differently, blood smeared on walls differently, he wasn't bleeding. It reminded him more of motor oil than anything else; motor oil some queer tossed glitter in or something.
He seethed through his teeth and continued with the assault. Ray picked up the speed, turning his stuttering blows into a furious staccato, and with each hit the black on the wall spread. It wasn't blood; he was fine. His hands felt the thud and the dampness, but none of it came together to register that he was bleeding.
"...Ray?"
Ray stiffened at Chris' voice, but didn't turn. Neither did he throw his fist again, holding it back for now. His reply was half snarled. "What?"
"You... okay? I were just... well- I were just wonderin', 'cause you didn't say anythin', then-"
"'m fine. Nothin' you need to worry 'bout."
justprompts - LostVERSE:
realityshiftedWORD COUNT: 713
Ever since things had gone right to hell, Ray had been even rougher on the people he knocked around. He never said why, never made any mention of anything, but it was plain to see that he put more force in his punches, in his strangleholds, in his restraints. He seemed just barely on the verge of snapping and doing permanent damage to whatever poor sod found himself on the receiving end - and Ray knew it.
The bloke who was now sporting a broken nose was starting to realise it a bit as well. It wasn't an interrogation, and the violence that Ray was using was uncalled for, but he didn't particularly care. The man had pissed him the hell off, and Ray was going to do whatever he felt like, especially if it meant turning the man's face into a bloody pulp. He didn't even know the man's name. It wasn't important. Not nearly as important as throwing an arm up to block a punch, then using his other to send a blow to the gut back to his opponent.
The man doubled over, and Ray grabbed him by his shoulders then proceeded to yank him upright. Ray took only a moment to look the man in the eyes before he smashed his head against his victim's. The shock and pain tore through his skull, but he ignored it as he threw the man to the ground seconds after.
Ray managed to get a few kicks in before someone dragged him away; he was sorely tempted to start being the shit out of them as well, but decided against it. His hands were already a bit sore, and his head was aching. He was better off calling it quits for now - if he felt like continuing, he was pretty sure he could find both of them to finish the job.
He was still brimming with the need to hit something when he got home. He slammed the door behind him, which was enough to snap Chris (who was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall) out of his stupor. Ray didn't pay him any mind and ignored the curious stare and simply stalked by, headed off to his room.
Ray stood directly facing the wall and drew back his fist. With one quick motion, he slammed it into where he knew there was a stud, and was rewarded with the painful shock of flesh, muscle, and bone against a good, solid wall. He drew his fist back, and hit it again. Again. Again. Eventually, the pain started to fade away as it was replaced with adrenaline, and all he focused on was the hard sound of his blows hitting the wall.
He didn't want to think about things. It was nicer to just indulge in violence. Thinking about it made him feel weaker, like something had been taken from him, though he couldn't pinpoint what exactly. Thinking about it meant-
He smashed his hand into the wall again, leaving a small smear of black.
What the hell did it mean, anyway? If he thought about it, was he admitting he was weak? Because shit, he knew he wasn't. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't as if he had any way of-
Ray threw his fist again and fixed his eyes on the growing smear of black. It didn't look like blood - blood was red, blood flowed differently, blood smeared on walls differently, he wasn't bleeding. It reminded him more of motor oil than anything else; motor oil some queer tossed glitter in or something.
He seethed through his teeth and continued with the assault. Ray picked up the speed, turning his stuttering blows into a furious staccato, and with each hit the black on the wall spread. It wasn't blood; he was fine. His hands felt the thud and the dampness, but none of it came together to register that he was bleeding.
"...Ray?"
Ray stiffened at Chris' voice, but didn't turn. Neither did he throw his fist again, holding it back for now. His reply was half snarled. "What?"
"You... okay? I were just... well- I were just wonderin', 'cause you didn't say anythin', then-"
"'m fine. Nothin' you need to worry 'bout."
