[otc] 19.1 - cool hand luke quote
Oct. 1st, 2008 10:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
magic_fratboy"Let me know you're up there. Come on. Love me, hate me, kill me, anything. Just let me know it."
The one thing he hadn’t completely anticipated was the sensory deprivation of being submerged in the dark swinging in midair. In a way, holding his breath is a saving grace because the discomfort of being unable to breathe keeps him grounded.
It didn’t help that he had four false starts to this thing, three of them quite real. First the water was too cold, and it took him nearly twenty minutes to restore control of his muscles while they refilled the barrel with warm water. Then he was having problems getting the safety line into the barrel during a dry run on the ground.
That had been staged for dramatic effect…he’d been rehearsing all week, and he had plenty of room to maneuver.
The last two false starts had scared the crap out of him. Twice, the cuffs had gotten caught on the line and twice he’d been forced to signal the people on the ground to bring him back. He’d come damn close to breaking his wrist…
Now he sat in a barrel full of water with nothing but his own thoughts and dormant memories to keep him company.
It started to happen when his thoughts went completely still, that the memories of his previous life would roll like a film on that blank slate, filling his head with experiences he’d been through nearly a hundred years before.
He couldn’t hear if the cuffs clicked, but he could hear crowds roaring in his head, feel the icy wash of the Mississippi in November sweeping over him. He was freezing in lukewarm water, drowning even though he held his breath.
Worst of all, he was doing what every amateur did most often…what every professional did at least once: he was starting to panic.
Help me. he thought to himself as he struggled for self-awareness, for recognition in the silent, watery black. If the gods are real, if someone’s listening, help me. Show me something, anything, just get me out of here before something happens…
He felt it then. He reached. He gripped, slid, and nearly swallowed a mouthful of water as he wrenched his arm…
Wait. Wait. Wait…
The shock of open air against his wet skin stunned him for a moment, but the safety line held him fast as the barrel’s line gave and it fell free, crashing in a mangled pile of water and wet wood.
He counted off four seconds before he let out a triumphant yell, twelve stories up, and let the line go, free-falling a few feet before the spotters down below took control of the slack and began to lower him safely to the ground again.
The crowd was cheering, their energy singing in his blood. His heart was racing, his feet were touching solid earth again…
And somewhere off to one side, a female voice was cursing in Italian.
Life was good.
Muse: Tommy Karras
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 474
The one thing he hadn’t completely anticipated was the sensory deprivation of being submerged in the dark swinging in midair. In a way, holding his breath is a saving grace because the discomfort of being unable to breathe keeps him grounded.
It didn’t help that he had four false starts to this thing, three of them quite real. First the water was too cold, and it took him nearly twenty minutes to restore control of his muscles while they refilled the barrel with warm water. Then he was having problems getting the safety line into the barrel during a dry run on the ground.
That had been staged for dramatic effect…he’d been rehearsing all week, and he had plenty of room to maneuver.
The last two false starts had scared the crap out of him. Twice, the cuffs had gotten caught on the line and twice he’d been forced to signal the people on the ground to bring him back. He’d come damn close to breaking his wrist…
Now he sat in a barrel full of water with nothing but his own thoughts and dormant memories to keep him company.
It started to happen when his thoughts went completely still, that the memories of his previous life would roll like a film on that blank slate, filling his head with experiences he’d been through nearly a hundred years before.
He couldn’t hear if the cuffs clicked, but he could hear crowds roaring in his head, feel the icy wash of the Mississippi in November sweeping over him. He was freezing in lukewarm water, drowning even though he held his breath.
Worst of all, he was doing what every amateur did most often…what every professional did at least once: he was starting to panic.
Help me. he thought to himself as he struggled for self-awareness, for recognition in the silent, watery black. If the gods are real, if someone’s listening, help me. Show me something, anything, just get me out of here before something happens…
He felt it then. He reached. He gripped, slid, and nearly swallowed a mouthful of water as he wrenched his arm…
Wait. Wait. Wait…
The shock of open air against his wet skin stunned him for a moment, but the safety line held him fast as the barrel’s line gave and it fell free, crashing in a mangled pile of water and wet wood.
He counted off four seconds before he let out a triumphant yell, twelve stories up, and let the line go, free-falling a few feet before the spotters down below took control of the slack and began to lower him safely to the ground again.
The crowd was cheering, their energy singing in his blood. His heart was racing, his feet were touching solid earth again…
And somewhere off to one side, a female voice was cursing in Italian.
Life was good.
Muse: Tommy Karras
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 474
