Ray Carling (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gotitwrong) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
shifted_prompts2010-06-02 04:48 am
gotitwrong) wrote in shifted_prompts2010-06-02 04:48 am
(no subject)
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
derogative
Character/Fandom: Ray, Life on Mars
Prompt: n/a
Word Count: 435
Summary: Ray ditches a body.
Author Notes/Warnings: :| I swear in the writing.
It takes only a moment for Ray to detach himself from even the slightest emotions.
He learned to do it years ago, as far as he can recall, or he always really knew how. It was just a talent, a little skill, that was always there. When he got tired of feeling just the bare bones of emotion, he closed the door on all of it. He washed his hands clean of all the nonsense that came with feeling and put on a facade for as long as it benefited him.
And now, in the front seat of his half broken down junker of a car, it benefits him. Only Ray Carling exists at this very moment. Chris, he thinks without really acknowledging it, doesn't exist. The Guv doesn't exist. Tyler doesn't exist. Cartwright doesn't exist. A smile crosses his face as he goes along, and he drums his fingers on the steering wheel. A second passes and he flicks on the radio, and all at once this grim task has become something else entirely.
Ray Carling has vaulted himself from feeling like shit to feeling like a goddamn champ, and he laughs to himself, because nobody, no one, knows what it's like to be him. He's driving around Manchester with a mangled body in the boot of his car and nobody can lay a finger on him. It's almost like he's 16 again, riding in a stolen car, knowing he's fucking untouchable.
Even better, he knows where he's going. One of the perks of being a copper, he thinks, is knowin' all the spots for ditchin' a body. He's never had to do it before but he knows how to hide it, he knows the places where you can put somebody and they won't be found for a good, long time.
He pulls over when he gets there, and pulls a shovel out of his back seat. Getting the boot open is proving to be hardest thing, but it opens after he fiddles with the lock for a few minutes. It pops open and all at once Ray's high crashes.
He feels like he's going to be sick. For a moment, he's pretty sure he is, but it passes, and he drags the body, the thing that almost, but doesn't quite, look like Chris out and onto his shoulder. Black blood is smeared on his suit again, but it doesn't matter. He can get rid of it just as easy as he can get rid of a body.
What he digs is a shallow grave; a half-assed attempt at hiding something that shouldn't exist.
derogativeCharacter/Fandom: Ray, Life on Mars
Prompt: n/a
Word Count: 435
Summary: Ray ditches a body.
Author Notes/Warnings: :| I swear in the writing.
It takes only a moment for Ray to detach himself from even the slightest emotions.
He learned to do it years ago, as far as he can recall, or he always really knew how. It was just a talent, a little skill, that was always there. When he got tired of feeling just the bare bones of emotion, he closed the door on all of it. He washed his hands clean of all the nonsense that came with feeling and put on a facade for as long as it benefited him.
And now, in the front seat of his half broken down junker of a car, it benefits him. Only Ray Carling exists at this very moment. Chris, he thinks without really acknowledging it, doesn't exist. The Guv doesn't exist. Tyler doesn't exist. Cartwright doesn't exist. A smile crosses his face as he goes along, and he drums his fingers on the steering wheel. A second passes and he flicks on the radio, and all at once this grim task has become something else entirely.
Ray Carling has vaulted himself from feeling like shit to feeling like a goddamn champ, and he laughs to himself, because nobody, no one, knows what it's like to be him. He's driving around Manchester with a mangled body in the boot of his car and nobody can lay a finger on him. It's almost like he's 16 again, riding in a stolen car, knowing he's fucking untouchable.
Even better, he knows where he's going. One of the perks of being a copper, he thinks, is knowin' all the spots for ditchin' a body. He's never had to do it before but he knows how to hide it, he knows the places where you can put somebody and they won't be found for a good, long time.
He pulls over when he gets there, and pulls a shovel out of his back seat. Getting the boot open is proving to be hardest thing, but it opens after he fiddles with the lock for a few minutes. It pops open and all at once Ray's high crashes.
He feels like he's going to be sick. For a moment, he's pretty sure he is, but it passes, and he drags the body, the thing that almost, but doesn't quite, look like Chris out and onto his shoulder. Black blood is smeared on his suit again, but it doesn't matter. He can get rid of it just as easy as he can get rid of a body.
What he digs is a shallow grave; a half-assed attempt at hiding something that shouldn't exist.