back to the living world, I guess
I cannot even slightly presume for how long I've been here.
Feeling that you're suspended in a cold, dark jelly, squirming desperately – as a worm on the fishing line, I guess – can kick all the fight out of you.
I do not know how people feel when they die – but suppose, this is somewhat alike.
Eventually I felt me pulse returning to normal, whatever amok I've been struck with slowly draining from me system; some nice thing it was, I thought – deadmen don't have fits of rage, and I still do not believe in magic, zombies and whatnot; I still believe in logical explanation and science.
Or I did.
The hell it matters anymore, I mused, if me is locked here – dead or not, it's not like I'm going away from this purgatory any time soon – or in the rest of the eternity span.
Fook that all. I've pulled me legs closer to the chest, curling into an embryo pose, and closed me eyes – what's the point of exerting the brain when there's nothing to be seen. Just breeding more hallucinations, I guess...
Hallucinations!!
An idea flashed in me brain, almost as painful as an electric shock to the neurons themselves; I recalled whatever lectures I've had, regarding psychiatry and delirious state: it claimed that addicts – and people high on something – could differ their reality from the delirium. With simply trying to breathe without breathing!
So I did – closed me windholes shut and waited.
...I failed miserably.
The carbon oxide, so generously provided with me lungs, almost made me faint, as the brain was desperately shrieking for some fresh oxygen.
I was not high or delirious. I actually was in the waking world.
So, I'm not dead: deadmen need no air or shit, I'm quite sure of that.
This only made things worse.
So, I closed me eyes again, curled tighter and let me mind wander off somewhere – toying with me memories, beating around the bush with some nonsensical hypotheses and finally counting the blasted sheep.
Slowly, I drifted off to sleep – suspended, much like a fetus in a womb, in a dark, cold, humid place I've been. And yet, I fell asleep.
However, pretty soon my slumber was interrupted with a foreign sound – and by this I mean differing from the noises my heartbeat and respiration provided: it was a feminine voice, calling me name.
Oh, great. Is that the Godmother? Or whatnot?
I tried to call back, but sudden aphonia hit me hard – no matter how much I was exerting my vocal system, I was as silent as a fish out of water; sudden fear gripped me hard – what if there actually was someone who could drag me out of here?! And I cannot respond or let them know I am here?!
Panic hit me hard, and I began thrashing in the invisible shackles holding me; now, recalling that moment, I understand that was the same as trying to flap one's hands in a desperate attempt to take off, like an avian creature; that time me never though – just thrashed and pulled, silently screaming, tears pouring from me eyes – a full-blown tantrum ahoy, aye...
I do not know how long I've been trying to escape the grip of the Purgatory. Eventually my bare attempts became more and more weak, fuse burning away, and I just gave up, weeping silently and desperately – like an orphaned child.
I even accepted my fate then – yes, I did, as low as it is; I gave up.
<the last line has got a slight crease to it – as if the hand, holding a pen, twitched slightly, leaving a blob of ink>
I was saved, however.
There was no bright flashes of light, or a choir of angels singing, or any tunnel – nay, I just felt a taut force punching me in the gut, forcing me to close me eyes – and the next second I was already back in the lab – as thrashed as it was – thanks to me, of course, presented with worried sick Twilight (was she crying? Her face looked wet...) and two more persons of ponykind – those of importance, I guess.
The first I've recognised immediately – she looked much like the statue in her honor, though the radiant white of her hide and the flowing, nebulous mane coloured after the nothern lights completed the picture. Celestia, I mused to myself, still lying on the floor, curled in fetal position, trying to blink away the blur, caused with the haphazardous change of the light.
Another Princess, I presumed, was the one responsible for the Moon – Luna, I guessed; she was slightly smaller than her sister; and all three of them looked at me with equal worry and concern.
I was back to the living world.
Unable to contain my feelings, I threw myself onto Twilight, hugging the pony and crying out loud.
Oi was that indignifying. But I needed that.