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onepiece_3002009-01-07 07:24 am
oxymoronic3.livejournal.com) wrote in onepiece_3002009-01-07 07:24 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Title: Freedom
Rating: PG-13
Media: Fiction
Pairing/Characters: Hatchan, Arlong
Word Count: 257
Prompt: Beginning
Notes: My second entry for this prompt! ♥
Hatchan knew very little.
He knew darkness, and he knew pain. He knew the screams of his brothers, the shouts of the humans. He knew the brand. Once, he reasoned, he must have known something else; whispers of days spent racing amongst turbid waves and the taste of his mother’s takoyaki still weaved throughout his dream.
But mostly, now, he knew darkness, and he knew fear and he knew with the absolute certainty that Hatchan did not feel very often, that he could not escape.
Then there was a light.
“Join my crew,” the voice said, and it was low and guttural, with the rasp of a fishman. “And I’ll free you. You’ll get revenge on these bastards.”
Hatchan gaped, simple instinct kicking in when his common sense failed. Something in the glint of the shark’s eyes, the bloody stain on the tip of his razor sharp nose sent apprehension coiling throughout his body.
“You’re an octopus,” the voice said. “You’re strong. Come on.”
Despite his misgivings, and his fear, he reached into the light and grasped his hand, being thrust out of his prison and looked around, tasted freedom, tasted hope.
“I’m not,” Hatchan said apologetically, voice cracking with the exertion of running, “a very violent person.”
Arlong – as Hatchan would later learn his name – smiled. “You’ll learn.”
The smile sent a shudder running in corkscrews down Hatchan’s spine. It was cruel. More man than fish.
Then, as the masters took them down, Hatchan tasted blood.
Such prices come, he was later to learn, with freedom.
Rating: PG-13
Media: Fiction
Pairing/Characters: Hatchan, Arlong
Word Count: 257
Prompt: Beginning
Notes: My second entry for this prompt! ♥
Hatchan knew very little.
He knew darkness, and he knew pain. He knew the screams of his brothers, the shouts of the humans. He knew the brand. Once, he reasoned, he must have known something else; whispers of days spent racing amongst turbid waves and the taste of his mother’s takoyaki still weaved throughout his dream.
But mostly, now, he knew darkness, and he knew fear and he knew with the absolute certainty that Hatchan did not feel very often, that he could not escape.
Then there was a light.
“Join my crew,” the voice said, and it was low and guttural, with the rasp of a fishman. “And I’ll free you. You’ll get revenge on these bastards.”
Hatchan gaped, simple instinct kicking in when his common sense failed. Something in the glint of the shark’s eyes, the bloody stain on the tip of his razor sharp nose sent apprehension coiling throughout his body.
“You’re an octopus,” the voice said. “You’re strong. Come on.”
Despite his misgivings, and his fear, he reached into the light and grasped his hand, being thrust out of his prison and looked around, tasted freedom, tasted hope.
“I’m not,” Hatchan said apologetically, voice cracking with the exertion of running, “a very violent person.”
Arlong – as Hatchan would later learn his name – smiled. “You’ll learn.”
The smile sent a shudder running in corkscrews down Hatchan’s spine. It was cruel. More man than fish.
Then, as the masters took them down, Hatchan tasted blood.
Such prices come, he was later to learn, with freedom.
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