The mind's take on locked-in syndrome
Dec. 25th, 2010 02:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
have_your_lives[It wasn't as though Schuldig expected anything good for Christmas. For one, it's Mayfield; anyone with the barest flicker of intelligence (which would be to say, Ken) could recognize the town's pattern for making life miserable. For another, even if the real Santa had come to visit the town, 'naughty' isn't even near a strong enough word for him. And, finally, he's had years of miserable Christmases, often where the holiday went completely unacknowledged because he was in places that couldn't care less about holidays; experience alone has taught him not to expect differently.
But Mayfield deserves credit where credit is due - this is, without a doubt, the most horrible Christmas in his entire life.
Even before he'd reached the end of his Christmas letter, he'd known he was in trouble. But he hadn't realized just how badly until he reached the last word, and all sound stopped.
All sound.
His ears echo with the silence; telepathically, his mind rings with the emptiness. Every connection he has to the rest of the world has been severed, so abruptly that he has no chance to adjust, no chance to anticipate or cope. It was bad enough when he was restricted to hearing with just his ears when he first arrived in Mayfield, but now he is utterly, completely alone with himself.
And when he tries to scream, he can't make a sound; not that he could hear it either way. He exchanged his voice for the telepathy that's now been ripped away from him.
He can't actually hear the bomb that's ticking away in his stomach, but in his current state, he'd actually consider death a relief. Others may be able to pick up on it, of course...
Housemates can find a shell-shocked Schuldig downstairs by his letter; otherwise, he'll probably be making his way to Nagi's house. Obviously, he's got no other way to communicate with his teammate now. Anyone trying to talk to him will have a very hard time communicating, since he can't hear you and he can't talk back, but you're welcome to try...also, he has his gun in his hand. Surprising him might not be the wisest course.]
But Mayfield deserves credit where credit is due - this is, without a doubt, the most horrible Christmas in his entire life.
Even before he'd reached the end of his Christmas letter, he'd known he was in trouble. But he hadn't realized just how badly until he reached the last word, and all sound stopped.
All sound.
His ears echo with the silence; telepathically, his mind rings with the emptiness. Every connection he has to the rest of the world has been severed, so abruptly that he has no chance to adjust, no chance to anticipate or cope. It was bad enough when he was restricted to hearing with just his ears when he first arrived in Mayfield, but now he is utterly, completely alone with himself.
And when he tries to scream, he can't make a sound; not that he could hear it either way. He exchanged his voice for the telepathy that's now been ripped away from him.
He can't actually hear the bomb that's ticking away in his stomach, but in his current state, he'd actually consider death a relief. Others may be able to pick up on it, of course...
Housemates can find a shell-shocked Schuldig downstairs by his letter; otherwise, he'll probably be making his way to Nagi's house. Obviously, he's got no other way to communicate with his teammate now. Anyone trying to talk to him will have a very hard time communicating, since he can't hear you and he can't talk back, but you're welcome to try...also, he has his gun in his hand. Surprising him might not be the wisest course.]
