Awakening

 

Suffering and death. 

What, where? Vertigo spins my worldly conception. Straining to grasp the absurdity of it all. Wasn’t I just at home, or was I at the lab? These converging memories... I was a lizard? A cat? So vivid in the instant, but quickly they fade into obscurity.

What? Where am I? Wait, what’s happening? Kicking and screaming, I fight my way through the darkness while trying to dig through all these fleeting memories until finding that horrible one, that ice-encrusted form, both burning and freezing, compressed, and stretched into infinity. But these new shrieks of pain and death. They are unfamiliar and terrified. ...And then silence. They are gone. This sparks similar feelings inside. 

Was that me?  

What happened to me?  

What have I done?  

Clop, clop, clop. 

Muffled, rhythmic sounds. They approach, are they footsteps? It’s of no concern, they are so far away. There are other things taking precedence within the thought stream supposed to be my mind.  

What’s going on? There must be more to reality than this. Or have I consumed it already, like I did that star in that strange dream? Wondering about the state of my former body, I manifest its form. Its sensitive flesh is charred and blistered, dried like it’d been in the sun for too long.

Seared from its skull, those once strange eyes. They’ll never sense any light again. Were the body to be reclaimed, could it ever be healed? How long must it remain in this state? Is there even a choice? How long must this torment, this temptation of life be endured?  

Swimming through the darkness of my consciousness and reaching for something, anything familiar to grasp. Only this body is familiar, it is all that grounds me here. Reaching within, feeling… How can it be, this feeling…? Are these my eyelids? Are they still closed? The imagined body can’t be real, there are no eyes or eyelids to feel. 

Still, if they are there… if I can open them.

Should I? 

Concentrate.  

Warmth. A brief but comforting warmth. 

Another familiar sensation, normally too minute to feel, but when there is nothing else. The light feathery touch of my eyelashes as they flutter open and closed. Elated over this small victory, but still trapped within this realm of darkness. Is there nothing besides thoughts and the crazily imagined eyelid fluttering here?

Death is strange. 

Deja vu! A familiar glimpse of light, that distant radiant pixel in the center of my null vision. Gamma rays burst from its stellar poles expanding until they consume the entirety of existence. Blindingly bright, squinting does nothing to quench this solar flare. 

Extreme light… Enduring the torture… I must... I have no choice.

…And then, a return to the comforting darkness. 

But the desire.

No! I want more! I need more! 

The possibility that this body still exists somewhere beyond its eyelashes provides hope. Of course, dreams or imagination. Life requires many things. Much more than what I have.

Maybe there is still a chest, and lungs in that chest! Yes, they are there. …And they scream for permission to be used. 

The familiar other voice in my head speaks, “Granted.” 

“Phhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” 

“Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” 

The breath of life.  

Waves of sound strike and register in these ears, they are the startled noises made by a gathering crowd. Gasps of astonishment and angry screams. 

Tingling sensations scatter throughout this muddled awareness. They reveal that there are more than just thoughts in this place. Breathing, how wonderful, how did I forget? Guess I’m not quite dead. The agony of nothingness gives way to relief, the symphony of life orchestrates within, persisting through this wretched but receding numbness.   

After having achieved some semblance of bodily awareness, a vague sense that this crumpled form is laying on its side presides along with the knowledge that this unfortunate situation must be felt and dealt with. The question buzzes throughout and wracks me with confusion. If I am, in fact, still alive... Just where the hell am I? Who the hell am I? Wasn’t I Erika Ward? Am I, still?

“We are, yes and no. Intruder, you are not welcome."

Intruder? Indignant anger flares but is involuntarily and at once quenched.

“There will be time for that, later.”

Instinctually trying to stand yields no results. Willing these arms to move proves frustratingly fruitless. Desperately trying to make these legs move is equally futile. The surmounting fear and stress of the situation compiles into an almighty shriek wishing to express itself to the world.

No, instead, breath weakly leaves the body without so much as a whimper. If I am alive, I’m trapped, paralyzed. This body is a prison. Death has claimed me. Or worse, perhaps this is hell and I’m being offered momentary relief from physical pain only to suffer an eternity of mental anguish. Longing for a life which is just out of reach. Will I forever fluctuate between these painful states? Will it get worse?  

“Yes. …And no. We must endure.” 

Lying motionless and becoming increasingly aware of the inquisitive and angry sound waves permeating the area. These alien sounds of rage and hatred are directed at me. Another unintelligible bark seems to be at me, but I’ve no way to respond, to show any sign of life or sentience.  

“We are broken. This form is of no use.” 

Strange and previously unknown memories rush through my head but refuse to stay. Many unfamiliar, but known nonetheless, scintillating colors dance across reality. What does this mean?

“What are you? What are we?”

Again, another assault of harsh, unintelligible yelling. Somehow, these over-saturated colors merge with the wavelengths of sound in the area. They begin to merge into comprehensible mental pictures.  

“This will take time.” 

The swirling colors assemble, decoding the information before my face into a mental picture. What is in the inside corner of this mental vision? A fuzzy nose. Pain is registered, acknowledged. Feeling this pain, my body is blistered and burnt? Yes. The coarse feeling on the cheek, the musty and burnt smell of purple and gold fibers stretching beyond comprehension. Purple has a smell, now. How interesting.

“This feeling is undesirable.”

Confusion.

Yes, the pain is horrible. I’ve been through much worse, today. Is this the same day? No, it can’t be.

An unfamiliar to Erika Ward world appears, in all its familiar ultra-fuzzy glory. This is not the lab nor is it a hospital bed? The stone alter this crumbled form lays on, tells me what it is in some strange way.

Where am I? Did I get kidnapped, drugged, and left for dead? But no, I was at the lab, I think… It seems so long, but also just a moment ago. Erika Ward slips ever closer to death. Wherever I am, I need to be getting to a hospital to be treated for…whatever is wrong with me. The overwhelming pain signals remind me that there seems to be a whole lot wrong with this body. Weirdly, I can endure so much pain, and it seems like a wall of detachment is raising to defend me from the brunt of the assault that I know is there. 

“Erika Ward is no more. We will not die. We endure.”

That was hardly comforting.

Unseen activity bustles around. Approaching footsteps and angry sounds. Wailing and crying.

A solitary voice in a gruff tone is speaking an unknown language. The voice demands something incomprehensible. A brief pause stretches into a moment of puzzlement. It snarls something else that sounds threatening. The voice thunders stern commands. Terrified and unsure of what to do, and having no choice in the matter, playing dead is my only possibility.  

Another guttural command follows. Do I hear a note of concern? I am unable to tell if I’m being ordered to do something or being asked a question. What language is this? Where the hell am I? I just wish whoever this is would call 911 to provide some greatly needed help.  

The presence hovering above now seems less hostile. After the thing snorts, I can feel the air current flow across my face. Imagining some great, pig-headed monstrosity, it murmurs something under its foul breath. Strong compression is felt under my crispy arms. The world shifts and then spins as this body is effortlessly lifted off the ground sending a crescendo of pain signals coursing throughout. Most of which make it over the imagined wall of defense. Woh, wait! I’m too injured for this mistreatment! Where’s the stretcher? You can’t move me like this! Don’t they know I’m still alive? Isn’t the breathing enough to show that?   

Suspended in the air like a hunk of meat on a hook, my head slumps forward on a neck unable to support its weight. The nauseous and distinct whiff of my tormentor resolves his visual image. The musk makes me wish for re-death. Knowing that the giant is holding this limp body up by the armpits and... For a moment... I can somehow sense him… See him as I’ve never seen anything before. Some crazy trick of this insane mind. Particles of light dance within my dark vision and begin gathering around the brute.

He must have sensed something. He realizes that I’m still alive. Aren’t I? The uncaring giant isn’t fazed by the signs of life expressed. Shrugging instead, and then hoisting me across his broad shoulder like a sack of feathers, my head slaps against rough cloth over a metal chain across his back. Shattered glasses tumble from my broken nose.

This cursed body refuses to listen or reflect on the struggle occurring within. Where is he taking me? To a doctor, I hope. I need help. But who the hell carries a wounded patient by throwing them over their shoulder? Where’s the ambulance? The stretcher? The drugged hypothesis horrifyingly weighs greater on the scale of probability. Fearing the worst, my mouth forms a silent scream. The only relief granted is the realization that my mouth is starting to obey in its movement. 

Futility. 

Fight or flight? When neither can be carried out, what can be done? Come on Reika, think clearly. I just need to calm down. Through all of this, my breathing is still unchanged. An anchor to focus on, the only link to any reality which is currently available. If only I could have a moment of peace, of relaxation. No pain.

Inhaling, exhaling; my breath becomes a rhythm to the percussion of my head slapping against the metal across the beast’s back. This song becomes an ocean of metered time whose depths I’m allowed to drown or escape to.