Women Big Viganas Picturs

[Lost] Trapped the body, the soul trapped

Title: Trapped the body, the soul trapped
Fandom: Lost
Characters: Claire Littleton , MIB
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2042 ( Fidipù )
Challenge: COW-T @ maridichallenge
Prompt: [II Week - Missoni 1] Prison
Summary: That poor little girl without a brain , imprisoned in the web of lies that only she could believe, was one of the crucial pieces in order to achieve its goal, all he had to do was just rock her a little more ', and fill his head with his ridiculous song until than she had remained only a poor empty shell. Then maybe it's time to get rid of it.
Notes: So. * _ * Discover new characters, eh? XD It's actually a piece that I wanted to write stuff about Claire in the years when it was infected and the control of the MIB, in particular, I would have liked to write about when the Others kidnapped Dogen have to study it, which, hey, I did. XD Maybe it's not much, but I do not mind. \u0026lt;3 The fic is divided into three stages: first, capture, torture and the second, third, the confrontation with the MIB. What else? I hope that does not make too disgusting. ^ ^ "
Spoiler: None
Disclaimer: Darlton's. ♥
Warning: None



Around her, the forest howl. He heard the whispers and chatter move from branch to branch hand they came running into the thicket was running at breakneck speed with her hands in her hair, while those high voices and whistling the chasing and encirclement, the super and then suddenly disappeared behind his back as if they had never existed, only to appear again soon, with more intensity, just around the trunk so often that seemed to hide an army.
Claire stood on the edge of a clearing and looked around, eyes wide open for visionaries not to miss the slightest detail, turning on itself like a wild beast ready to attack or be attacked by predators.
For a long moment, nothing happened. The air around her was full and still, hot, and in a brief moment of lucidity he realized that he had heard all the voices were gone, so that from one second to another all he could hear was the sound His shortness of breath, hoarse and dry grass that crunched beneath his shoes every time you move. He looked carefully at his left, and when he could not really feel anything, he moved to the side, walking on tiptoe, and crouched behind a huge tree, waiting.
He slipped off the loaded gun from his shoulder and took him in her arms, stroking the barrel and stock as they were the cheeks of her child and held her breath, every sense alert, ready thumb on the trigger. They would not have ever taken alive.
a minute passed, then half an hour, then maybe an hour, and nothing happened. The forest had returned to whisper sweet sounds of the wind and the air itself seemed to have dissolved, as if in that point in the world does not now happen anymore. Claire ran a pulse on the forehead to get rid of hair that fell in broken hair on his face contorted and still waited, until it was certain that ran no danger. He looked around again, and then cautiously, always with his rifle in his arms, went out into the open, showing his back to clear.
was then that the attacked.
were four, five, twelve men with big hands and strong arms, and within a second Claire found herself with her legs in the air, wrists locked behind his back, and could do nothing but screaming and kicking and biting anything that came near his mouth, while the men tugging and tie, crushing his face against the rough ground covered with grass and wood. The knees scratched the ground, elbows almost gave up with a snap under their grip and the last thing he saw was a lightweight, close to its root, behind which was hidden only a moment before. He heard the voices reach her excited and indistinct and, as soon as he was able to store enough air to articulate a coherent sentence - Give me back my son! - his world was suddenly dark.


When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was darkness. He blinked several times, as if to test his sight, and the pupils as they became accustomed to the darkness began to distinguish the vague shadows and then gradually shapes, lines and details. She noticed suddenly that it was night the windows were locked, but the cracks that the rounded edges of the wood could not cover came a dim light, orange light of dusk, probably.
He tried to get up, but when the arm moves, was suddenly aware of being bound. He moved his legs, wrists, contracted muscles to try to break the ties that the blocking, but the only result he got was to get even worse.
In the end, they had taken. He shouted, frustrated, and cursed, giving background to the whole top of his lungs and when his string of expletives and curses ran out in a whisper, he saw the silhouette of a man bending over her, her long hair framing a pale face blacks who stood up in the intense almond-shaped eyes.
He said something to someone who could not see Claire and in a language she did not understand and in his field of vision appeared another man with sharp features softened by an irregular beard, light hair held back by a bandana. The two men talking in a moment and then the first left, just as he had come, not even speak to her.
The second man moved closer and she tried to break free again, starting to his tumbler and cursing when he grabbed her shoulder, she struggled, able for a moment to diminish it.
"Do not be afraid," said he, in a conciliatory tone. "Do not we all."
"Where is my son ? Scandium, angry, spitting out words in between the teeth and the man shook his head, returning to crush his back against the rough surface on which he was lying.
"We have your son," he said, the tone of one who is tired of always reply the same concept. "We just have to get a little test, for safety reasons, we will let you no harm."
"Liar!" He shouted, shaking his head as if he had not even heard. "I know you have it, I know it was you get it! Give me back my son! "
He strengthened the grip of the ties on his wrists and ankles and she saw that two other men reached him, helping him hold it. "I repeat, Claire, we do not have your son. Do not know why you think it's in our hands, but I swear, we have not. "
" Liars, liars, "shouted again, still shaking his head from side to side - now that was the only part of the body on which he still had control. "I know it's here, he told me that he is here. Give it back, give me back Aaron! "
None of the men answered her and she cried louder, almost scratching the vocal cords for the effort, but it seemed that no one to feel the same. The man who had stayed with her walked away, leaving her alone with the other thugs and, when he came back, looked straight into his eyes, sighing slightly.
"Stay still," he said, and before that Claire only had the chance to shake his head, his body was crossed by the longest and most painful discharge he had ever heard in his life. The fingers of the hands and feet trembled, his chest rose up against his will, although he felt his vocal cords quiver and shriek with violence, the pain was so unbearable that he could barely hear. He shouted again, perhaps stronger, and discharges increased in frequency and intensity until the pain really became unbearable and she felt her whole body breaking and shaking uncontrollably and sell as if he had not even a spine. She wept, perhaps, was not sure, but at some point his face was all wet and her eyes were so bad that she could not close them or to or to keep them open and under his eyes misted could not see anything that shape fuzzy-haired man who monitored everything without even deigning a glance.
discharge continued, perhaps for hours, and when it finally ended the torture she even realized it. His body continued to tremble, his ankles and his wrists rubbed hard against the ropes and at some point fell on his back, exhausted, completely unable to speak or reason, his mouth wide open and still incredulous and streams of tears that slowly rolled down her cheeks, she could not do anything to stop it. He heard men
confabulation again, while moving away from her, and just turning his head, he could see them all around what looked like an old appliance, returned them a few times and looked at the end, the man with fair hair went back to her, frowning. "The test failed," he said, or seemed to understand given the situation and, before she could even to issue the one hand, he put something heavy and hot on his shoulder.
The pain was so intense that his senses seemed to go out all at once and the last thing she heard was the nauseating smell of his own flesh sizzling under the hot metal.


The night was dark, dark, silent. Claire ventured into the trees without even see where they put their feet, the shreds of clothing that fell on him like rags and hair pours on the face, shoulders, covering her eyes, everywhere. Trudged in silence, shoulders and lower curves, trying to move quickly as he walked away from the temple where they had locked, directed to his shelter, his home.
He walked into the night, ignoring any sound or signal that arrives confused his ears and when he saw a fire burning and crackling in front of his door he stopped, eyes wide. "Is that you?" He cried, hoarse voice and a figure stood up from the piece of log on which she sat and came up, stopping a few steps away from her.
"You came back," he said, his voice soft and Claire nodded, removing hair from the face and settling the suits, as if to make it presentable.
"I ran away," mumbled, his eyes fleeting. "They took me in their time but I ran away." She inhaled deeply and sniffed, as he felt tears pricking my eyes. "I wanted to bring back Aaron," she said, her voice small small. "I told him that I knew them but I have not given back."
The man looked at her with a mixture of tenderness and compassion and stroked his cheek gently and away the hair from her face. "It's okay, Claire."
"No, must ridarmelo." He shook his head slightly, a quick shot, and then looked the man straight in the eye, looking in his eyes confirmed that all was not lost. "Because they have it, right? They are the ones that I took away Aaron. Ridarmelo must, "she whispered, again, the man clasped the shoulders with his arms and carried her to his chest, rocking slightly, in silence, as if it were a child.
"It's all OK, do not worry. Can you have your child back, as I promised. "
" When? "Piped, her face pressed against his shirt.
"Soon, my child, soon. And in the meantime, "he said, lifting her shoulders," you just have to stay calm and not give up. "He paused a moment and ran his knuckles on the small face dirty and congested, showing the amiable smile of which was capable of. "Now go 'to wash," the urged, gently. "Meanwhile, I'll make something to put under your teeth, yes?"
Claire hesitated, as if he wanted to add something, but eventually gave up. He walked away in silence, sad, hunched shoulders and when he reached under his shirt rolled up refuge on his belly with one hand slid slowly burns on the water and washed his face with slow movements and rough, as if he was doing just because he had told them not because I really felt the need.
The man looked at her a long time, while fixing the meat near the fire and when she finished washing he saw her approach to the gruesome depiction of a cot as if she were possessed by a spirit and began to swing it from side to ' other, singing the lullaby that had been heard so many times to know how to repeat in their sleep.
Breathe heavily, turning the meat. The poor bambina senza cervello, imprigionata in quella rete di bugie a cui solo lei poteva credere, sarebbe stata una delle pedine decisive al fine di raggiungere il suo scopo; tutto quello che doveva fare, era soltanto cullarla un altro po', e imbottirle la testa con quella sua ridicola canzoncina fino a che di lei non fosse rimasto soltanto un povero guscio vuoto. Allora, forse, sarebbe arrivato il momento di sbarazzarsene.
«Qui è tutto pronto, Claire!»
Ma per adesso, non poteva fare altro che servirle la sua cena.