Bakudeku One-Shots

Body -(A/F)

     Body over mind. Willpower over heart. Isn't it all the same? No. Screaming and burning flames. Buildings collapsed and precarious pieces of debris lingering by a hair. Buildings burnt to a chard, black and crackling as it falls apart. Asphalt cracked and dirty with small droplets of blood painting it.

     There was no other option. He had to get up. He has to. There isn't another option. He can't let them down. Not his mom. Not All Might. Not his friends, nor his teachers. No one. If he didn't get up, what would he stand for?

     For one, he wouldn't even be standing at all. He's stuck in his flat paralyzed position. Body on the ground, arm under his stomach and the other sprawled out in front of him in a desperate cry for help. Cheek in the cement and costume in the wind. Body still as a statue, and skin colder than ice. He just laid there. No matter how hard he tried to lift his arm, he couldn't. He tried to move his legs, they were heavy. Really heavy.

     The feeling of more than twenty dumbbells attached to his entire leg. Not just one but both. His arms looped through weights that were meant to be bench pressed felt like they were on his arms instead. His head was an entirety on its own. A bowling ball of sorts, just heavy enough to lift with one good hand. He couldn't even lift his head if he wanted to.

     He couldn't move. Not one bit. The screaming seemed to fade in and out as his mind was brought back to life as if someone punched him with a brass knuckle ring. His eyes are open but the outside is darker than he remembered. He can smell the rubbery burnt smell and dirt as his face is smooshed up against it. It made his head hurt much more than it already did.

     His brain was mushy, and no amount of clarification would rehabilitate his thoughts coherently. Why was it always him? Fuzzy sounds made his ears ring and his mind felt light and floaty, but his head kept his brain grounded. Therefore, he couldn't lift his head. His whole body was either in excruciating pain, or ultimately numb. Both were horrible to deal with. One minute his body is cold, the next raising temperatures as he felt bile rise up in his throat.

     He wiggles his fingers, ever so slightly. He can't breath. That's when he noticed he was still living. The fact that he couldn't breathe. He tried to cry out but all that came out was a hoarse mumbled that nobody heard. His mind starts to conjure restless images. No one could hear him. He was alone. Well, maybe not alone alone, his friends weren't there. No one was there to save him. And he couldn't save himself. He had to get up at this point.

     Still feeling his anxiety sky rocketing and his heart pounding in his already ringing ears only made the nausea worse. His body was beyond its limit, and he didn't have enough energy to get up. Why is this time different?

     Is it the fact that he used too much power again? His arms didn't feel broken, neither did his legs. But they felt useless. That's when the second wave of anguish slapped him. He couldn't feel a damn thing.

     The tears collected in the corners of his eyes and blood dropped from his nose. He couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't even move them. Why was that the case? Did he... He couldn't have, could he? He just couldn't not be able to move. This was his body. He needed this instrument to carry him through and through. And he destroyed it. It finally gave up on him. He tried to call out but couldn't. Once again, there was no sound, only a low rumbled. He tried to scream but that only made a metallic substance force it's way past his lips and onto the ground.

     Another thing to worry about. He was bleeding out. Internally and externally. No. No! It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. How did everything go to shit within half an hour?