Work Header

you have to spit to see the shine (i see the carcass in your eyes)

Work Text:

Courtney was strapped to a chair and gagged in someone's basement, and at first, she didn't mind that much, much less being speechless in terror.

It meant an escape from strip clubs and empty families and shooting up in the back of gay bars.

- a summary:
really, she just wanted a break.

And then the torture happened.

It wasn't physical torture, per say.

It just crushed her spirit, not her bones.

- how courtney michelle harrison was crushed:
a ghost appeared.

Three, in fact.

The first was her father. Estranged. Divorced. Distant. Proven asshole. Here, in some random druggie's basement.

The apparition wavered, and blinked out of existence every so often.

“What the hell.” Courtney spit. “Get the hell away why are you here why am I here.”

“Babe,” Hank tried to reason, “Babe, I'm not actually here. I'm just here to tell you I love you.”

“Bullshit.” He fed her LSD when Courtney was a toddler and now she was sixteen and in juvenile for shoplifting and he hadn't ever even met her.

Then her father flickered and faded.

“Well, screw you too, I guess.”

- things that courtney was:
confused, angry, and a disappointment.

It had been hours that bled into days that bled in months, and Courtney was tired.

But Courtney was not scared. No, not at all. Courtney was many things, but she was not a coward.

Then, a man appeared, red-blond and short with a hell of a leather jacket.

“Listen here, if you aren't going to get me out of this fucking shit hole of a basement, god help you.” Courtney snarled, and strained against her bonds.

“Woah, woah, you aren't exactly helping my cause here.” The man giggled nervously and looked shy. She hated him already.

“I couldn't get less of a shit about your cause. You don't look like you haven't eaten anything in three weeks.” It was true. Courtney was stick thin, all angles and anger. The guy wasn't bad looking, with aforementioned hell of a leather jacket.

“Well, you don't look like your friend was murdered and someone mind controlled you into murdering your other friends,” the man retorts. “I gotta kill you. That's my cause, okay?”

“Listen here, you little bitch—”

And then the man was gone.

  - things courtney was left with:
the image of four men, the sound of a pop song, and a sea of jumping concertgoers ;
two words: your fault.

Courtney was finding it harder and harder to stay defiant. It was school again, punches from fifty different angles and a small, frail girl cowering on the floor.

The hallucinations came in waves now.

The world began in a stew of firey ice, and a man and a woman rose from the stew. They called themselves many different things, but they ever sought to rule the earth.

They try, and they try again, but they are not stupid. They know the weaknesses of the human race, and they know how to rule. They just did not, not yet. The earth was not ready yet.

But the time has come, now, and the Earth is ready. They are preparing, for in this age of communication, they may finally seize the sweet taste of rule.

She woke in sweat and tears, but the waves of pain rolled over and she found it best to stay asleep.

The stars. They burn. We burn.

Gods of Mania, gods of Power, gods that rule the earth.

grim reaper
demon hunter
god of kings
killer of killers
more insane than anyone alive

- the last ghost:

Courtney Harrison, age sixteen, dies in a humid, bitter, basement.

Courtney Love, age three thousand, is born in a cave of magic and holy pain.