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sg1 poke

Onward and Upward

Here's another snippet written realtime without beta.

Dinner with mom and mother-in-law, brother-in-law, aunts and cousins of hubby was tolerable for once. Everybody behaved (including mom). I was so nervous since mom vs. mother-in-law is now in its 22nd year and these dinners are great places to see fireworks (politely, of course). D was great and mom kept her sarcasm down to dull roar. I survived. I hate this holiday--introspection is important, but forced to face my flaws is really hard. It has been a pissy year with nothing happening. Next year bodes better.

Anyway, everybody has problems.

John always loved the peace and contemplation of a fishing pole, the ocean, and his thoughts. Fishing, Dad, daybreak with its crickets and gentle breezes on the lake...memories to swim in as he flicked the pole up and down in the ocean surf.

The sun heated the back of his neck and legs as he moved the pole up and down enticing the freklicks with its offering. He bent his knees to take the weight of the swimming critter as it approached the lure in the rushing surf.

Then, crashing on his concentration it all went blank. Sight went first, then sound, then he lost the grip on the pole. There was nothing, just him in the blackness without ground or sky, or ocean surf, an infinity of blankness.

"Shit, shit, shit! What have I done now. I should be working, working, working. Aeryn was wrong, he is here and he is punishing me. I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm sorry."

John raised his senseless hands and covered his face and sank down to the sand never feeling the ocean surf as it rolled over his prone body.

D'Argo and Chiana stood staring at the tableau of their striken friend as he slowly curled up on the sand. They shook off their shock as they realized that John was drowning and couldn't help himself. D'Argo sprang forward and grabbed John's arms and pulled him free of the surf and rolled the astronaut over on to his back. John's lips were turning blue and his eyes were rolled up in his head. He motioned to Chiana to begin the breathing exercises Crichton had taught them long ago as he applied the measured pressure on John's chest.

John gagged on the salt water, trying to catch his breath as the acrid fluid ran out of his open mouth. The relentless pressure on his chest abated and he rolled over on his side, spitting water as he coughed and gulped the air. His thoughts flew in all directions as he tried desperately to get his bearings. His hands grasped something but he couldn't tell what except that it was solid and gave at his touch. He grimaced in frustration as he tried to call out. He knew someone was there or he wouldn't be in this predicament. He rolled up on to his knees, letting go of the thing he held so tightly.

Chiana gasped at the pressure of John's hand in her own and tried to hug John as he struggled up on to his knees. She knew that they should leave John so that he could recover his senses, but he seemed so forlorn and lost kneeling in the wet sand, his body shivering from the sudden drenching and shock. When he released her hand, she motioned to D'Argo. The saddened crewmembers turned and quickly ran up the beach to increase the distance from their friend.

John slowly came to his senses, his vision blurred and his breath jagged as he staggered to his feet. He shook his head to clear his ears of water. He could hear the pounding of the surf and the cry of the flying winged creatures, but whoever was with him left no clue except the scuffled footprints in the sand. He sighed in his loneliness and walked slowly back up the beach towards home.